


Don't be late

by momoejaku



Series: Don't be late [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst Armageddon, Batfam reconciliation, Bruce doesn't make the same mistake twice, Feel Fest, Gen, Hug and Cry Finale, Jason grudgingly lets go of his hate for Bruce, Teary Triathlon, Y i k e s, leave this poor boy alone already
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-03 01:52:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8691838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momoejaku/pseuds/momoejaku
Summary: Every Thursday night, Bruce chases Jason down, searching for him all throughout the city. And every Thursday night, Jason lets himself be found. It's a test, you see. A test to see if Bruce will be late like he was the last time... the time when Jason needed him the most.





	1. Closer to home

**Author's Note:**

> Set a few months after the events of Under the Red Hood.

Jason didn’t know why they were doing this. It’s not as if it was planned. It’s not as if Bruce gave Jason a call every week and said,  _‘Hey! We still good for Thursday night?’_ They were technically still on non-speaking terms, as far as the rest of the family and Gotham was concerned anyways. It had only been a couple of months ago that he had taken over control of the Gotham crime rings, busted Joker out of Arkham to kill him, and fought with Batman. 

 _No._ They were most definitely  _not_ on “speaking terms.”

But every Thursday night, Bruce would track Jason down. And every Thursday night, Jason wouldn’t run. It was a new place every time, Gotham Park, the docks, sitting amongst the gargoyles that hung over the city. Secluded, quiet places where Jason would sit, and wait for Bruce to find him. 

It was like it was a test. Not that Jason tried particularly hard to cover his tracks, or chose difficult locations… but simply by waiting, _waiting_ for Bruce, it felt like deja vu. _It felt, like Ethiopia._ And every week, Jason felt the anxiety begin to build up within him as he waited. Every week he wondered if this was the week Bruce would give up on him. If this week, he would turn him in.

But that hadn’t happened yet. 

One night, Jason had even waited on the roof of the GCPD, as if he were _daring_ Bruce to do it. To betray him again, to stand there and watch as his second Robin, that cocky little street kid who got caught stealing Batman’s tires, was dragged away to Blackgate, or Arkham, or wherever the hell they would lock him up. But instead, they had ended up just sitting there for a whole hour, watching the police cars drive by as sirens cut through the cold stillness of night. And when the hour was up, Bruce had walked down to Commissioner Gordon’s office, and Jason had left. Angry. 

_Why had he been so angry?_

It was as if he wanted Bruce to do it. To let him down, to give him a real and final reason to hate him completely. And it was as if Bruce knew, that was exactly what Jason expected from him, and he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

So tonight, Jason sat on a hill near Wayne Manor, overlooking the the luminous glow of Gotham City. It was one of the best views of her, different from the view you got when you were swinging above the buildings, different from the view looking up from the cesspools of Crime Alley. From here… Gotham actually looked peaceful. 

 _Amazing what distance can do to a view,_  Jason thought bitterly as he sat there, waiting.

When he heard the batmobile drive up behind him, Jason didn’t turn around. He heard the soft footsteps approach him from behind, saw the black form sit down beside him, Jason’s red helmet positioned in between them. He kept his eyes fixed on that city, tense and brooding, the anger already reaching its peak.

‘You’re a bit closer to home today,’ Bruce spoke first, his voice level, cautious. Testing the waters as he always did on these nights. 

‘For old time’s sake, I hope you brought something with you,’ Jason said, his voice edged with sarcasm. ‘And also, you’re _late_.’

To his surprise, he heard a rustle beside him as Batman held out a brown paper bag. Hesitating, Jason took it from him and opened it to find a burger, some fries and a drink. He felt his heart pounding, actually pounding in his chest from the simple fact that Bruce _remembered_. He remembered that night they had met, buying him a burger, sitting on the batmobile and eating it as they looked out over this same exact view. 

‘I hope it doesn’t have mayo,’ he said instead, inspecting the burger suspiciously. 

‘It doesn’t.’

‘Good.’

They sat there in silence as Jason bit into his burger, Bruce abstaining from eating this time. Instead he simply sat there, his cape blowing gently in the wind, his gaze fixed on the glow of the city.

There were some things they simply didn’t talk about. Some topics that couldn’t be broached without starting a fight. They couldn’t talk about guns, about ideals surrounding justice, about the fact that Jason was still killing criminals whom he felt deserved it, albeit less frequently. They couldn’t talk about the past, about their broken childhoods, about the “good old days” as Batman and Robin, about that one time everything went to shit and Jason died. It was a given that they couldn’t talk about the Joker. They couldn’t talk about that tumultuous time all those months ago when Jason had revealed that he was still alive. 

But above all else, they could never, ever, talk about the first time they had met on a Thursday night. The reason they still did this, every week, without fail. They couldn’t talk about how Bruce had spent that whole week tracking him down. How he had finally found him that rainy night. How he had walked right up to Jason, ignoring the gun in his hand. How he had pulled his mask off, revealing his broken and tired face. ( _He had looked so_ tired. _)_ How he had told Jason that he didn’t want to talk, he didn’t want to fight, he didn’t want to turn him in. He only wanted to acknowledge the fact that _Jason was alive._

They could never talk about how Bruce had stepped forward slowly, how Jason had lowered his gun and let himself be pulled into a tight embrace. They could never talk about how Bruce had broken down in tears. _Broken down._ How they had fallen to their knees and Jason had felt the tears roll down his face in spite of himself, the gun dropping out of his limp hand. 

Actually, now that he thought about it, they really didn’t have many things that they _could_ talk about. Most nights were spent just like this, sitting together wordlessly. Because with words came pain and anger and fear. Bruce would lecture and Jason would punch him, and then it would never end.

Jason finished his burger and offered Bruce a fry, and he took one, glancing at him as he did. 

 _Trying to read me,_  Jason thought, a bitter smile crossing his face. _Not that I can talk._ He had already read Bruce for tonight. It was going to be one of _those_ nights, where Bruce would almost cross the line. He would ask him about what Jason had _been up to recently_. How many _people he had killed_ since the last time they’d met. Which would lead straight into the problem of killing in the first place, which would lead them both to argue about the “Joker Predicament,” as Jason had sarcastically named it. 

‘Well, Bruce, we may as well just go ahead and get this over with,’ Jason said, his voice cold. He set down his coke and leaned back, staring up at the stars as he spoke, inconsequentially. ‘This week, I was tracking down the leader of a human-trafficking ring. Slippery bastard. Took me longer than it should have. When I finally found him, he had a whole horde of hired guns waiting for me. There were 38 women and children being shipped out that night. 

‘And yes, I _did_ kill the ringleader. He was using a kid as a human-shield. It was the kid or him, and I chose the kid. So, in summary, one morally-corrupt, depraved man dead, countless numbers of women and children alive, well, and free. But that last bit doesn’t matter, because the only things you’re going to take out of all of this information is the fact that I _killed_ someone. The how, the why, the who… none of that matters to you. 

‘So, go ahead. Tell me that, if it were you, you would have saved them all in spite of the odds and locked up the ring-leader for life. Tell me I’m wrong, that I’m wayward, that I’m a terrible person, that I should be locked up and “atone for my sins.” _I dare you._ ’ 

Bruce said nothing in response, his expression dark. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, biting back words, biting back the instinctual reaction that had risen up inside his chest. 

‘You got shot in the arm. The wound’s reopened.’

Jason glanced down at his arm in surprise to find Bruce was right. He swore under his breath as he peeled off his now blood-stained jacket. Gingerly, he removed the gauze that he had taped to his arm, and winced as he looked at the angry, open wound staring back up at him. Bruce stood and stalked back to the batmobile, returning with a first aid kit. 

 _‘I can do it myself,’_ Jason muttered, pulling back as Bruce reached out for his arm. 

Suddenly they both turned away as memories of similar moments rushed into their minds. _Batman stitching up a re-opened knife wound, Batman patching up minor cuts and bruises from a fall, and Robin complaining all throughout it._

‘Jason, _please._ ’ 

Jason let out a heavy breath, but offered his arm to Bruce all the same, turning away and looking towards the city, stubborn till the last. He flinched when Bruce touched him, holding his arm in place as he flushed the wound out with antiseptic, wiping away the fresh and dried blood that had caked around the now undone stitches. 

‘I thought I taught you how to do stitches _well_.’

‘I was in a rush today.’

Bruce looked up at him, realising that this had all happened today… tonight. That Jason had been shot in the arm only hours before. That he had killed a man within the past few hours. That he had rescued dozens of women and children from a smuggling ring, just an hour or two ago. 

He pulled out the old stitches, and began to carefully sew up the wound again. 

He wanted to smile and cry at the same time. To hug Jason and slap him. To tell him how proud he was and that he was disappointed in him. To… to tell him… 

_Thank God he’s alive._

Bruce took out some fresh bandages and wrapped them around Jason’s battered, muscular arm.

‘ _Ow,_ ’ Jason said, throwing a glare at his old mentor. 

‘Sorry,’ Bruce grimaced as he finished, tying the ends in a neat little knot. His hand lingered on Jason’s shoulder, the fact that he was able to do this, to wrap up Jason’s wounds, to sit beside him, to talk with him, to look into his eyes, the simple fact that he was alive once more washing over him. 

Jason couldn’t take it. He looked away, miserable, running his hand through his hair in frustration. ‘Dammit, Bruce. You could at least say _something_.’

They were both so tired. Tired of always disagreeing. Tired of fighting over morality and justice and the past. Jason knew, deep down, that he didn’t have the energy to do it anymore. To always disagree with Bruce and rebel against his ideals and god-honest beliefs just for the sake of it. Already, he had stopped killing unless it seemed inevitable. Before, he had paid less attention to whom he had shot. He had cared less. 

And Bruce. Bruce was tired of lecturing. Of always acting like he had the moral high ground, when in reality he just _didn’t know anymore_. He was tired of pushing his son away, of writing him off as lost, when he had come so far. When he had shown so much hope. When all he needed was to see that someone still cared. 

He squeezed Jason’s shoulder once then stood up, looking back towards Gotham. ‘If you ever need any help, Jason. Call me.’

‘So you can be my moral babysitter you mean?’ 

Bruce gave him a look. ‘So that I can help. Two are better than one, you don’t have to go it alone.’ He paused, taking a shaky breath. The next words faltering on his lips even as he said them. ‘I’ll always be here for you, Jason. _Always._ ’

Jason listened as his footsteps faded away, his body trembling as he hugged his knees to his chest. _Should I be laughing or crying? Ah hell, why not both?_

‘Batman,’ he forced himself to call out. Bruce stopped and turned back expectantly. ‘Don’t be late next week.’

Batman gave him a wry-smile. ‘Maybe if you told me where we were meeting ahead of time, I wouldn’t be late.’

Jason stood, fitting the red helmet over his head and tossed the empty fast-food bag at Batman, who caught it. ‘Where would the fun be in that?’ Then he was gone, leaping over the overlook and riding off on his motorbike. 

Bruce followed it with his eyes for a moment, before looking up at the stars that Jason had been staring at so intently before. Somehow, it felt like a new start. Like the bridge had been rebuilt and there was hope for the two of them after all. He smiled and, throwing the paper bag in the passenger seat, drove off into the night for another long night in Gotham City. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song recs: 
> 
> The Good In Me by John Bellion  
> Re-arrange by Biffy Clyro  
> How to Save a Life by The Fray  
> I Have Made Mistakes by The Oh Hellos  
> Prodigal by OneRepublic  
> Kicks by Lauren Aquilina


	2. I'll never leave you

Something was wrong. 

_Something was very wrong._

Bruce frowned out towards the Gotham skyline, perched on one of the many icy gargoyles that were scattered around the city. It was mid-December, and forecasts had predicted a heavy snowfall for the night. But for now, it was just cold.

 _Five more minutes._ Bruce told himself, cupping his gloved hands around his mouth and breathing warmth into them. He watched his breath drift in front of his eyes, masking his vision for a moment before it dissipated into the air.

 _It didn’t make sense._ After weeks of having to chase Jason down, being forced to search for him across the city for their weekly meet-ups, Jason had finally left him a _clue_. A vague, difficult clue, but a clue nonetheless: a picture of a gargoyle, left on his desk at Wayne Enterprises. 

It had taken Bruce a few days of pondering the picture for him to figure it out, for the old memories to be dredged up once again. Memories of himself and a young Jason Todd, in his Robin suit, sitting on the very same gargoyle. Laughing. Joking together before they swung away to patrol the city. Jason had called it his “pet” and had always used it as is base on the rare nights when he was left alone on patrol.

Yet another test of Bruce’s memories, as if Jason was trying to see how much their time together as Batman and Robin had really meant to him. 

 _He could never truly know._  

Bruce had arrived early. Hoping to prove his perseverance, his loyalty to Jason. Eager to pass the test. But Jason was not there, and so Bruce had sat on that gargoyle and waited. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. Half an hour. Until his stomach began to sink in a sickening mixture of worry and fear. Did he get the location wrong? Or was Jason late?

He pondered the first option briefly, but had so convinced himself it was the right place. Even as he ran his fingers over the rough, icy stone teeth of the frozen sentinel, he remembered Jason’s laughing voice. Remembered his small, bare leg swing from it as he sat there with one knee up, gazing out at the same view Bruce was looking at now.

 _No. I’m not wrong. Which means Jason is late._ He gritted his teeth, his heart racing as he stood and jumped from the gargoyle, flying high above the dim twinkling city lights.

Jason would never be late. Not tonight. Which could only mean one thing...

_Jason was in danger._

 

* * *

 

 

Batman turned out the infested underbellies of Gotham. He combed through the back-alleys and dim-lit streets. He visited every single prominent criminal or crime-lord that the Red Hood had engaged in the past. It took hours, and the night wasted away. It was time he didn’t have. He became angrier in his fear, desperate, returning to a base level of brutal violence that he had not used for a long, long time.

 _‘Where is the Hood,’_ Batman growled, holding the squirming man, beaten and bruised, over the edge of the building, the wind and gravity tugging at his body. He was a member of a drug ring that the Red Hood had apparently had run-ins with during the past week. They operated mainly in schools, selling drugs to the kids and harassing them. 

_Right down Jason’s street._

‘I—I swear I don’t know nothin’ man!’ The man shouted, whimpering as his legs dangled in thin air. ‘Pull me up!’

‘Not unless you talk.’ Bruce allowed his grip on the man’s jacket to loosen ever so slightly, and the man cried out, grasping at Batman’s arm, his eyes wide with terror. _‘TALK! Before I drop you,’_ Batman roared.

‘Okay, okay!’ The drug dealer blurted out, his voice a high and shrill. ‘The boss was sick of the Hood screwing up our runs! We had orders to take ’im out tonight. I ain’t a part of it! All I know is they told the Hood to meet the boss at the Docks so they could ambush him. Used one of the kids as bait. That’s all I know, man! I swear that’s all I know!’

Bruce heaved him up and threw the man against the brick wall, knocking him out cold. His hands trembled as he hand-cuffed the man’s limp arm to one of the railings, running through all of the worst scenarios his mind could throw at him.

 _Jason is smart. And he’s even stronger than he was as Robin. He’ll be fine. Jason will be… fine…_ Bruce’s face twisted in fear as he pulled out his grappling hook and swung off towards Gotham Harbor, fighting against the frozen wind.

**_I can’t lose him again._ **

He arrived at the docks breathing heavily, desperately searching for evidence of an altercation between the drug ring and the Red Hood.

He found the child first. Scared and crouching behind a stack of cargo, shivering from the cold. She scrambled back, whimpering when she saw Batman approaching. The child was young, no older than fourteen— one of the children the drug ring had “reached out to”. 

‘It’s okay, I’m here to help,’ Bruce said to her. The girl looked at the bat-symbol on his chest, and seemed to relax immediately. Batman removed his cape and gently wrapped it around the girl’s shoulders. He tapped his chest. ‘You’ve seen someone else with this symbol, haven’t you? He tried to help you.’

The girl nodded, tears welling in her wide eyes.

‘Where is he?’

‘He was in that building with—with _them_ ,’ she said, pointing towards one of the many warehouses that lined the docks. ‘He told me to run… they had guns…they—they _hurt_ him.’

‘How long have you been out here?’ Bruce asked, the worry in his voice seeping through, scaring the child... scaring himself.

‘I—I don’t know,’ the girl said, sobbing quietly.

Bruce touched her shoulder reassuringly then stood. ‘Stay here. I’ll be back.’

‘That’s—that’s what _he_ said,’ the child said in between gasps, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. ‘“I’ll be right behind you,” he—he said.’

Bruce said nothing, but turned and ran towards the warehouse. Trying to convince himself it would be fine. Trying to convince himself _it couldn’t happen again._

He crept into the darkness unseen, merging into the long-drawn shadows that filled the silent warehouse. The silver moon filtered in through dirty skylights, casting its dull light across the grimy floor. Highlighting the dark red pools that trickled from still bodies. Bruce stepped around the bodies cautiously, checking for signs of life. Sure enough, they were all injured, but alive. Just unconscious. There were at least twenty of them. The floor was littered with bullets and empty cartridges. A war-zone.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a caught a glimpse of movement. He stalked over to the barrier of metal sheets and carts and felt his heart drop as he looked behind it.

The Red Hood was propped up against a hole-ridden crate, his helmet still on, arms hanging limp at his side, bleeding out from several bullet wounds to his chest and stomach and legs.

_NO._

Bruce rushed forward, kneeling down and taking Jason in his arms. He carefully removed the red helmet to reveal Jason’s pale, sweaty face.

‘Jason?’ Bruce called his name out desperately, checking for a pulse. ‘Jaso—’ his voice caught in his throat and he tried to control his emotions. He found a pulse. But it was weak. His breathing rough. Bruce slapped Jason on one cheek, gently, trying to wake him up.

Jason’s eyes fluttered open for only a moment. ‘Bruce…’ His voice was barely audible.

‘I’m here, Jay,’ Bruce murmured, picking him up and walking towards the door. ‘Stay with me.’

Jason’s eyes seemed unfocused. They looked up at Bruce without recognition, then rolled back up towards the clear, winter sky as they stepped out into the open. 

It was snowing. The small flakes drifted down from the sky and fell on Jason’s face, turned red as they melted into blood.

Jason smiled weakly, and let himself fall away from the world peacefully…

 

* * *

 

 

Bruce sat by Jason’s hospital bed helplessly. The wounds had been serious, and though the doctors had done all they could, they warned Bruce that Jason might not make it through the night. That all they could do was hope for the best. So he had stayed by Jason’s side, holding his hand, caught in between his fear of losing his son again and his refusal to even accept that as a possibility. 

_It can’t happen. Not again._

The girl had been treated for trauma and pneumonia. Her medical fees had been completely covered by a mysterious donor. The parents were called, and Bruce had watched as they had taken her home, hugging her close and whispering that it was “going to be okay” and that “they would get through this together.” Then he had returned to Jason’s side, asking for privacy from the doctors. No questions had been asked. After all, it didn’t matter if _Batman_ was a relative or not. They left respectfully, but told him to call if there were any changes.

As the hours dragged on, Jason’s vitals began to slowly stabilise and Bruce allowed relief to wash over him. Suddenly, all the the worry and panic of the night set in and drained him of any remaining energy he had. He leaned back in his chair, still holding on to Jason’s hand, and allowed his eyes to close as sleep stole him away…

 

* * *

 

 

Death no longer scared Jason. 

To be perfectly honest, it never had. Growing up an orphan in crime-alley, fighting as Robin… there had been so many close-calls. _So many times he should have died._  So many times he had been ready to die. 

Then, it had happened. And he had been shut away in a coffin and buried deep in the ground. And that should have been the end...

Death no longer scared Jason.

_But life did._

 

* * *

 

 

Jason’s body jerked up violently as he came to. The monitor beeping, speeding up with his heart rate as he struggled to breathe, heaving, frantically looking around the room. Tearing off the IV drip and breathing mask. The floor rushed up at him as he fell off the hospital bed.

Suddenly he heard a voice calling out his name. Echoing. It sounded close, and yet so far away. Something reached out and touched him, held him by the arm...

‘Get away!’ he shouted. Panicking, scrambling backwards on all fours. ‘Don’t touch me again! Please—’ He found himself in a corner and curled up there, sobbing, his whole body shaking as the horrible memories rushed back into his mind. ‘Please…’ he mumbled. Over and over. Rocking himself back and forth on the floor.

Death had been such a gentle release. A soft, final sigh after a life filled with blinding pain and horror and fear. And now life dragged him back, yet again. It had torn him away from the warm darkness only for him wake in the ground. Left him to claw his way out of wood and worms and rotting earth. It had dragged his consciousness, his mind, his memories, out of the Lazarus Pit. He had stumbled away knowing exactly who he was, and that _he wasn’t supposed to be here_.

And now, life had forced itself into his veins once again. And he didn’t know if he could make it this time.

‘Jason…’

He heard someone say his name again, more clearly, and he looked up towards the voice as the tears coursed down his face. ‘Bruce?’

A pair of strong arms pulled Jason up, encompassing him in warmth. Jason focussed on the heartbeat that filled his ears, squeezing his eyes closed. He clutched Bruce’s shirt desperately, afraid to let go, afraid that he would drown in the depths of numb pain and fear again.

Bruce held Jason’s head firmly against his chest, held him as his body shook and shuddered in spasms. As an invisible ghost beat down on his broken body. Bruce turned his face up to the ceiling and let the tears flow freely. 

All he wanted was to take all the pain away. But he knew there was nothing he could do. That this pain was too deep. He could only wait for the storm to pass, and be there for Jason throughout it. He ran his hand through Jason’s hair soothingly. _It seemed to help._

‘Don’t leave me, Bruce,’ Jason whispered, his voice wavering.

Bruce closed his eyes and pressed his lips against the top of Jason’s head. ‘I’m here, Jay. I’m not going anywhere.’

The soft light of dawn shone in through the windows, casting its warmth upon them as they sat there, holding each other in the silence of the morning. Waiting out the pain, fighting it together, healing each other’s wounds. Finally bridging the gap that had formed between them... 

_Nothing would ever separate them again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song recs:
> 
> Bones by Josh Record  
> Oxygen by Liz Longley  
> Not Alone by Red  
> WALLS by Kings of Leon


	3. The prodigal returns

Jason clenched and unclenched his fists as he stared up at the massive doors to Wayne Manor, and asked himself _what the hell he was doing here._

It was Thursday night. And exactly two weeks ago, Jason had almost died. Again.

Exactly two weeks ago, Bruce had proven to him that he was in Jason's life to stay. He had remained by Jason's hospital bed during the long days of recovery, only slipping out at night to go on patrol for a few hours. Jason had mostly slept, pumped up on pain meds and still recovering from the wounds, both physical and mental, that had been inflicted on him. Still recovering from the panic of that first morning, his fear of life. His fear of living and breathing when he didn't even know if he wanted to anymore. And so Bruce had read, worked on his laptop, and slept the days away, right by Jason's side; a quiet, strong, grounding presence in the room for him to latch on to whenever he felt himself drifting away.

They had talked a few times during those days. Small moments where Jason would, once again, let his guard down and open up to Bruce about how much it hurt. And Bruce would listen to him, intently, with that hard but well-meaning look on his face that meant he was thinking too deeply about something, trying to form the best response. But instead of his usual answers, the ones that always came out as more of a lecture than anything else, Bruce would respond with simple statements. Soft questions that cut right into the heart of the issue and gently challenged Jason's feelings of anger or self-hatred or confusion. He did not rebuke. But he did not passively agree with Jason either. 

And, slowly, Jason began to heal. And the more he healed, the more he hated it. The more he wanted to run away from Bruce and this return to normalcy in their relationship and life. It was as if he knew that this was the end, and it scared him. So one day, he had decided to leave. To slip away into the night, away from Bruce and his kindness, away from the doctors, away from it all. He couldn't stand it anymore. It was all he had ever wanted, and now, he couldn't even stand to look Bruce in the eyes. He needed to be alone; or so he told himself.

In reality, he wasn't much sure of anything anymore.

'The doctors think you should stay a few more nights,' Bruce had said quietly.  

Jason stopped at the door, his body tense, his whole being rebelling against that still voice. He cursed himself for thinking he could sneak out unseen when _Batman_ was in the room, he of all people should have known better.

'I'm fine, Bruce. The worst of it is over. I—' he stumbled over his words as he lied. 'I just need to be alone.'

Bruce had said nothing, searching Jason's bruised face and weak body... and Jason wondered if he had been able to see right through him in that moment, if he knew the truth. If he had been able to sense the shame and self-loathing seeping from him, pushing anyone who tried to get close to him away— even though it was what he needed the most.

But Bruce had simply nodded, resigning himself to the fact that this was something Jason felt he needed. Jason had opened his mouth to say something else... but the words had refused to come. So he turned to leave.

'Jason.'

Jason paused, the door half-open, and turned back reluctantly. Meeting Bruce's sharp, searching gaze with his own.   

'Thursday night,' Bruce began, his voice unsure, hesitant. 'Will you... come to the Manor?'

He hadn't expected that at all. And in that moment, several emotions had battled for dominance in his mind.

He knew that this was a big step. He knew that this was Bruce trying to bring him back into "the family". He knew that this was Bruce showing him that he trusted Jason. He knew that this would tie off the final loose ends of their relationship...

He also knew _there was no way in hell he was ever going back to that place._

_So what was he doing here now?_

He stood there for what felt like an aeon, just staring at the door, brooding, debating whether he should just go in or leave with his pride intact. But he knew that this wasn't about his pride. This wasn't about who was the first to apologise and extend the hand of friendship. Bruce had already done that. He had already stripped himself of any stiff-necked sense of morality and superiority he had been holding on to, and gone completely out of his way to chase Jason down. To prove to Jason that he loved him even when he didn't agree with him. To prove to Jason that he was never going to give up on him. He was never going to let him go. 

Swearing vehemently under his breath, he took hold of the door handle and pulled it open. A long creak echoed into the silent, musty hall of the Manor, and Jason cautiously stepped inside.

 _Should I have knocked?_ Jason thought as he hesitated on the doorstep, suddenly worried. _What's the protocol for coming back home after you've been estranged? Oh god, is the whole family going to be here? Why didn't I think this through? I should go. I should leave. I should never have come back._

He turned to go back out the way he had come, but found that he couldn't. He felt suspended in this timeless moment of uncertainty and fear and... hope. And he knew that if he left now, he _would_ never come back.

And he would regret it for the rest of his life.

So Jason closed the door and forced himself to take another step.

He walked through the empty house, as the blood rushed through his ears. The place was quiet as a tomb, and Jason should know.

He focussed on his breathing, looking up at that huge painting above the fireplace. Counted to ten as he passed the old clock, sounding out the hour in forlorn, desperate tones. One deep breath in, one deep breath out, as he ran his fingers along the old books in the library, tracing over gold lettering and rough, dusty pages. Listened to his own echoing footsteps against the steps as he made his way upstairs. One foot in front of the other, until he found himself in front of that old, familiar door.

He trembled as he stood there with his hand gripping the handle, knowing that the longer he took the harder it would get. He bit back the tears and opened it.

Nothing had changed. The stack of Jason's favourite books sitting on the desk, the closet filled with his clothes, his school bag hanging on the back of a chair, a few posters stuck up on the walls, the telescope set up beside the window... 

Jason crossed the room and walked over to the desk. He picked up one of the books and began skimming through it, looking at the notes scribbled in the margins. Paragraphs analysing the imagery and metaphors, one-word statements conveying how a phrase had moved him, underlined sentences and circled words that had affected him in some way. Jason smiled as he read over his own writing.

And suddenly, the weight of what he had lost set in once again; a heaviness that settled on his chest and refused to leave. He sank down to the floor and leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes in an attempt to force the image of his younger self out of his mind. Jason had forgotten how young he had been. Young, and naive and ready to take on the world.He had finally found somewhere he could call home, a family. For the first time in his life, everything had started to fall into place and make sense. His path had felt so clear... and then it had all been violently torn away from under him.

_Fifteen year olds aren't meant to die._

'Jason?' a small voice drifted tentatively from the open door. 

Jason started, dropping the book to the floor and looking up towards the door to meet the speaker's old, sad eyes. His heart stopped in his chest, then broke as recognition and the memories washed over him. 

_'Alfred.'_

There was no hesitation. Jason stood quickly and met Alfred in the middle of the room. He wrapped his arms tightly around the butler, burying his face into the butler's shoulder without a second thought. Alfred's body trembled as he cried silently, his hands clutching the child he had lost all those years ago, and Jason did not shy away from him. They stood there for the longest moment, just holding each other, making up for the years of cruel separation. 

 _'I'm so sorry, Alfie,'_ Jason finally whispered, his voice hoarse. 

Alfred heard the fear in Jason's voice immediately. He pulled Jason away from him gently and looked up into his dark eyes, registering his age, his height, the deepness of his voice. He was taller than Alfred now. He was not a child anymore. His young face was aged, torn by tauma, experience, hardship and the long, restless nights spent alone. He was so different from the rebellious little boy that had been brought to the Manor, changed from the quiet but passionate teenager that had fought alongside Batman's side before his death had shaken the whole family...  

But there was no doubt about it: he was Jason Todd.

Alfred cupped Jason's face in his hands; touching the scars, the bruises, staring right at pain that filled his tired eyes... and he smiled into them through the tears.

'Master Jason,' he began slowly, his voice firm and unwavering. 'You have absolutely nothing to apologise for. And if I hear you trying again, there will be consequences.'

'And now we're both crying,' Jason said sarcastically. He took a deep breath and looked around the room. 'It looks...'

'Just the same,' Alfred finished for him, following his eyes towards the stack of books on the desk. 'It was mainly my doing, I'm afraid. I used to come and sit in here with a cup of tea on occasion. Searching for closure, I suppose...' 

Jason watched the butler for a moment, saw him lose his train of thought and struggle for a way to change the subject.

'I could use a cup of tea, actually.' Jason said, running a hand through his hair awkwardly. 'Sorry for barging in by the way. Bruce invited me to come, and I was a bit early... and I... well. The door was open...' Jason trailed off.

Alfred gave him a stern look, his eyes twinkling with humour nonetheless. 'Nonsense. You're not barging in anywhere. This is your home, Jason. You don't have to knock and wait to be ushered in and announced by an old butler.'

'Right,' Jason grinned, not mentioning that he had kind of been expecting exactly that.

'Master Bruce should be back soon. And in the mean time, we shall have our tea.'

The butler lead Jason out, closing the heavy door behind them before they head back downstairs to the kitchen. Jason watched him quietly as he started the kettle, brought out the tea things and sat down across from him while the tea was left to steep. 

Alfred didn't pry.

He didn't ask about what Jason had been doing. He didn't ask about how he had come back. He didn't ask him about his wounds. Mostly, he talked about the mundane. Little things that they had used to talk about. And Jason was content to listen, to let Alfred lead the conversation as he sat there, sipping his tea every now and again and smiling at the butler's little quips and jabs at Bruce and himself.

Occasionally, Alfred would mention the family, talk about what had been happening recently, but not too much. It was as if he instinctively knew what would make Jason uncomfortable, even after all of these years. And Jason couldn't help but hate himself for not coming back to Alfred sooner. He couldn't help but wonder how Alfred had felt all these months... knowing that Jason was alive but being unable to see him. Jason had missed him so much. 

Bruce arrived soon after, and followed the voices to the kitchen, hesitating for only a moment before he opened the door. Jason stopped mid-laughter, suddenly self-conscious as he met Bruce's gaze. 

'Jason, I'm glad you could make it. How are you?' Bruce asked, his voice slightly stiff.

'I'm doing better, thanks.'

Alfred frowned at the two of them disapprovingly as they looked away from each other, Jason fiddling with his teacup and Bruce scratching the back of his head. Neither of them sure of what to say next to whom. 

'Good _god,_ ' he muttered beneath his breath. 'It's infuriating sitting in this room with the two of you like this.' Alfred shook his head and began to clear the table, ignoring Bruce and Jason as they both flushed in embarrassment. 'If you promise to come find me before you go Master Jason, I'll leave you two alone to go work through... whatever this is.'

'I will Alfie,' Jason said and stood, following after Bruce. His hand brushed against Alfred's arm as he left, smiling at the butler. 'Thanks for the tea.'

 

* * *

 

Bruce and Jason walked downstairs to the cave in a tense, awkward silence. Though Bruce had invited him, and Jason had said he'd think about it, neither of them had thought it would actually happen.

_Yet here they were._

Jason opened his mouth to speak, prepared to blurt out whatever came to his mind, anything to fill the silence... but then he saw it. The familiar flashes of red, yellow and green through a glass display case, sitting right there in the middle of the cave.

'You put my uniform down here.' he said quietly as they approached it.

'Of course.' Bruce turned to look at him, confused, suddenly worried that he had done something he shouldn't have. 'Why wouldn't I?'

'I—I just thought, after all that had happened...' he placed one hand on it, then drew it back, his face growing dark.

'—That I would throw it away? Dismiss everything you'd done as Robin? Disregard all the times we spent together and just, forget it?'

Jason looked up at him. 'Yes.'

Bruce sat down at the batcomputer with a heavy sigh, massaging his forehead as he thought of the best way to address Jason's lack of confidence in their relationship. Jason had been dealing with fear of abandonment and neglect his whole life, long before he even met Bruce; but Bruce knew that he had done things, said things, that had only made it worse. He had made mistakes, and he would not make them again.

_The truth then._

'I didn't actually put it here,' he admitted. 'Alfred did. He insisted it remain, and Dick helped to convince me that Alfred was right. As he always is...'

He paused, and Jason sat in a chair beside him, leaning forward as he waited for Bruce to continue.

'It... hurt, seeing it every day, Jason. It was like my parents' death all over again. It wasn't that I wanted to forget you. It was that I _couldn't._ I blamed myself for your death every single day, blamed myself for not getting there fast enough. I swore that I would never take on another Robin, and I distanced myself from everyone because I was terrified of losing anyone else.'

'Then along came a thirteen-year-old who convinced you to make him Robin,' Jason said, damning himself for how insecure he sounded.

But Bruce simply smiled. 'Tim didn't want to become Robin, you know. He never wanted to replace you. And I didn't want him either. But Tim was so convinced that Batman needed a Robin, he even tried to get Dick to become Robin again.'

Jason laughed shortly, trying to imagine how Dick must have responded to that. 'I'm sure Nightwing took that really well.'

'He didn't. I didn't either. But Tim was stubborn, and he believed in me during a time I didn't believe in anyone or anything. He became Robin because of _you,_ Jason. He looked up to you, and believed that you had changed Batman... changed me for the better.'

'Do _you_ believe that?' Jason asked, sceptical.

'I do.'

Jason mulled over Bruce's words, trying to convince himself to believe them. _How long would it take before he could trust again?_

'I've always been broken, haven't I,' Jason said, his voice tired and weary as he spoke into the emptiness of the cave. 'I was broken long before the Joker beat me to death with a crowbar. And I'm starting to believe that there's no fixing me.'

Bruce reached out then, and took Jason's hand in his. 'Look at me, Jason.'

Jason looked up into Bruce's eyes, numbly.

'You are _not_ broken. Do you understand?' Bruce searched his eyes, looking for any sign that this was going in, that Jason was hearing him. 'You have _been_ broken. You have _been_ bruised and beaten. But now, you are healing. It's going to take time and it's not going to be easy, but I want to be there for you through it. If you'll let me.'

Jason said nothing. Every inch of his body screaming at him to either give in to it all or run.

But he was tired of running. He was tired of being the prodigal.

_He just wanted to come home._

'I still don't know what to believe anymore, Bruce,' Jason said slowly, intentionally, weighing his words in his mind. 'I still don't know what I stand for.'

'Then are you wearing this?' Bruce leaned forward and touched the red bat symbol on Jason's chest. 'Why did you only wound those men two weeks ago, even though you almost died? Why did you risk your life to shut-down a drug ring that was dealing to children? _Why are you here_?'

Jason found he had no excuses, no witty come-backs to brush Bruce's questions off.

He looked down at the bat symbol and remembered that he had put it on telling himself that it was to get the police off his case. That it was a well-known and feared symbol in Gotham and he would be more effective wearing it.

He remembered that he hadn't made a conscious decision to not kill that one night two weeks ago. He had only aimed and fired. It had been like second nature. He hadn’t wanted to kill that night.

He remembered the anger that had boiled up inside him when he had started looking into that drug ring, started following them and watching as they handed off the drugs to fourteen-year-olds who would then spread them around the schools, or find themselves in big trouble.

And he remembered driving here, to Wayne Manor, because deep down... he had known he was ready. That he was done running away from Bruce and all that he stood for. Because he didn't disagree with him anymore. Not completely.

'How is this going to work, Bruce?' Jason asked, cutting straight to it. Done with dancing around the issues. 'I can't be your perfect, obedient little soldier anymore. If I disagree with you I'm not just gonna shut my mouth and say nothing.'

'I don’t expect you to. We still don't agree on a lot of things Jason, but that doesn't mean we can't work together, as equals. For now, all I ask is that you don't kill if you’re going to wear that symbol.'

'I'm not giving up my guns.'

'As long as you use rubber bullets,' Bruce conceded.

Jason sat there with his arms crossed, staring straight ahead, trying to envision a future in which this could work. He could already list all the reasons it wouldn’t. But he also knew that Bruce was not going to leave him alone after these past few weeks. And truth be told, he didn’t want him to. 

Truth be told, as much as hated himself for it, he needed Bruce. He needed Bruce’s help in cracking down on the trafficking and smuggling rings of Gotham. He couldn’t take them on his own anymore, they were fighting back against the damage he had already dealt them. But he needed Bruce for more than that. 

Jason stood and walked back to the display case, resting his hand on the cool glass and keeping it there this time. Watching his reflection as it stared back at him from the colours of his old Robin uniform, holding its breath. He clenched his fist.

‘Next Thursday.’ Jason said to Bruce, inwardly screaming at himself even as the words left his mouth. ‘I’m going after a group of dealers linked to the guys who put me in the hospital. They’ve had time to get complacent, sort their operations out, form new partnerships... they won’t be expecting us.’ 

_Us._

‘I’ll be there.’

Jason nodded and turned to go upstairs. 

‘Jason?’

He turned back and waited as Bruce hesitated.

‘I’ve... asked the others not to approach you. Dick wasn’t happy about it. Barbara wasn’t either. But I wanted you to talk to them in your own time. When you feel ready.’ He paused awkwardly, looking pointedly at Jason with a small grimace. ‘Tim could use an apology. He really did look up to you Jason. He still does.’

Jason threw him a wry smile. ‘I’ll get around to it,’ he promised, heading up the stairs and waving a dismissive hand at Bruce. 

_One step at a time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song recs:
> 
> Fix You by Coldplay  
> Let It Go by James Bay  
> Get Home by Bastille  
> Little Talks by Julia Sheer & John D  
> Home by Birdy


	4. Thicker than blood

Jason had to give it to the kid: he was good.

He had always known that Tim Drake was going to be the hardest after Bruce. Bruce had been hard because of how close they had been, because of their history, their past, the ways in which they had hurt each other and let each other down.

But Tim, Tim was new to Jason. They had nothing, no history, no relationship. They only knew about each other from other people. Tim had replaced Jason, filled the gap that he had left behind, and Jason had been the irreplaceable martyr. So was it any surprise that their first meeting had gone so wrong?

Bruce had told Jason that he had been Tim's inspiration when he was training to become Robin. That Tim had always aspired to be like him... until he came back from the dead and kidnapped Tim to get at Bruce, that is; beating him up and holding a knife to his throat.

And even if he had never planned on intentionally hurting Tim beyond that, even if he _didn't_ _really_ _care_ about there being a new Robin after him, he knew that he owed Tim an apology for what he had done. He had already left it too late, it was tonight or never.

The others had been... less complicated. 

* * *

Oracle had been the first.

She had just seemed to be the easiest at the time... the one who would judge him the least. They shared more than a few similarities, one of which was their personal vendetta against the Joker; but it was more than that. 

Even if they hadn't spent much time together when Jason was Robin, Barbara had always been the one who had accepted Jason's occasional rants and venting sessions about Batman without taking Bruce's side or lecturing him. She had even joined in once or twice.

Out of everyone in the family, Barbara was probably the one person who was the least forgiving of Bruce's flaws. And, after Jason, she was the least willing to put up with his shit. 

So they had met in a small, inconspicuous downtown Gotham cafe, ordered two cheap cups of coffee, and sat at a small table in the corner, the low buzz of the the cafe-goers filling their ears, preventing uncomfortable silence.

They had both agreed on how awkward the whole situation was, and Barbara made a snide comment about Jason's height and how shocked she was that he had actually managed to grow taller.

Jason had scoffed and said he was relieved that she hadn't lost any of her sass.

Then they had both smiled into their coffee.

They talked for an hour or so, catching up... letting the conversation lead them where it would. Bruce came up, and Jason had asked about him. What he had been like during the years he had been gone, how he had changed after his death. He wanted to hear it from someone else's perspective. And he trusted Barbara to not withhold any criticism.

Barbara had folded her hands in front of her face, frowning as she pondered Jason's question.

'I don't say this to make you feel sorry for him, Jason. God knows how much Bruce and I are at odds with each other. Makes things hard when you work as the main informant for Batman. But your death really changed him.' She looked up at him then over the rim of her glasses, holding his gaze. 'He loved you. We all did. But to Bruce, you were like his own son. And parents will always, always blame themselves for any harm that comes to their children.'

They sat there quietly, Barbara allowing her words to sink in, Jason doing everything he could to try and get them out of his head. Jason's eyes wandered to the wheelchair, then back up to Barbara.

'Was my anger wrong, Barb?'

'No. It wasn't.' Barbara had said to him, her voice firm. 'Your feelings are all valid, Jay. Your anger, your pain, your feelings of betrayal. It's not wrong to feel them. For as long as you need to. You'll move on from them in your own time. But you _will_ move on from them.' She smiled wryly, finishing her coffee. 'They'll come back, from time to time. But they won't be in control of you and your actions anymore. You'll be able to control them, channel them into something else, something that will help you rather than harm you.'

'Control sounds nice...' Jason had said, turning towards the cafe window, watching people with coats and umbrellas rush by, trying to get out of the rain.

'It is, Jay. But it's not always something you can get through sheer will or hard work. Sometimes, you just have to weather the storm, and wait for the rain to stop.'

And with that, Barbara had pulled on her coat and wheeled herself out of the cafe waving back at Jay as she went. 

* * *

Dick had been a bit more difficult.

He had been easy enough to find; just follow the trail of Bludhaven thugs hanging from lamp-posts and tied up in back-alleys, and you usually find Nightwing.

That much hadn't changed at least.

'What's wrong, Nightwing? You look like you've seen a ghost.'

Jason cringed inwardly at himself, but when he was around Dick, it was like his sarcasm knew no bounds. He had always used it as a mask to hide his insecurities, his frustration at having to live up to the expectations the first Boy Wonder had set before him.

Dick had let go of the mercenary he had been "having a chat with" and kicked his gun away. He stood there in silence, his face unreadable, eyeing Jason as he ran a hand through his hair.

'I didn't think... you would want to see me this soon,' he ventured, hesitantly.

'Well, you remember how much I love destroying people's expectations of me.'

And Dick had smiled at that. Wordlessly, he reached up and took his own mask off. And Jason could see it then: the change. Hidden deep in his blue eyes, buried under coy smiles and hair-ruffles and constant movement. Invisible to the rest of the world...

But Jason could see it.

The loss, the pain, the hardship... even _rage_. And Jason had wondered if Dick was letting him see it willingly. His brokenness. 

Jason sighed and took his helmet off. 'I guess Bruce told you everything then?'

'No. Not everything. He told me you had come to an agreement.'

Jason laughed shortly. '"An agreement"... he would call it that.'

He turned to look out towards the city, at a loss for words once again. What was there to say anyway? He hadn't really known with any of them. Not with Bruce. Not with Alfred. Not with Barbara. And he had hoped, in vain, that Dick would fill the silence. After all, Dick always had something to say... or he used to.

'You're awfully quiet,' he commented, his voice cool. 'Is this the new "Dick Grayson"? Broody, quiet, lost in his own thoughts...'

Dick didn't speak for a moment, and Jason found himself getting nervous in spite of himself. This wasn't what he had expected at all. Somehow, he had assumed that out of everyone, Dick would be the one least affected by his death. He was an emotional mess underneath all of his showmanship and bravado, they all knew that. But he was also the most adaptable of the family. Possibly the most resilient, the most stubborn and persistent.

He remembered the last time he had visited Dick in Bludhaven as Robin, how he had made some bitter comment about the system being too corrupt, implying that Dick should just give up on trying to change it. And Nightwing had simply smiled and told him: " _Can't. I care too much... so sue me."_

Finally, Dick took in a deep, shaky breath and looked Jason in the eye. 'Jason. I know you're going to try and stop me from saying this. You... you've probably heard it a thousand times from Bruce. You're probably sick of it by now, and, really, it probably won't mean anything to you. It probably just sounds like cheap words, and it's going to sound like that coming from me especially. But I need to say it. If only for myself. Is it alright if I'm selfish for just this once?'

Jason nodded at him slowly, his arms crossed, bracing himself for the inevitable, pointless apologies that he didn't need or want. But, somehow, even though he had been the one to go through hell and back, even though it had been him who had died... the ones he had left in life seemed to have suffered for it too. And deep down, that hurt him more than anything else.

The fact that his death had meant something to them. That he had left a void, a gap in their lives.

'Everyone blamed themselves for your death,' Dick began, his voice measured. 'And we _all_ blamed Bruce. Sometimes, we even tried to blame you... But your death wasn't anyone's fault but the Joker's. So I know that it wasn't "my fault". But there are things I should have done, could have done, to prevent it. And I didn't. I should have been there for you. I of all people should have known what a tough time you were having as Robin. How easy it is to get frustrated with Bruce.

'There are things I couldn't have been able to understand, wouldn't have been able to help with. But I could have been there to listen to you all the same. I could have spent more time with you, helped you to not feel so alienated, involved you with the Titans more... but I didn't. And I... I will always regret that. That I wasn't there for you.'

Jason had watched him, his face impassive even as Dick's voice broke and the tears coursed down his face.

He felt empty.

He knew these words meant something to Dick, that they were freeing something that had been buried down deep inside of him for all of the years Jason had been buried in the dirt. Even then, he had been able to see the weight lifting off of Dick's shoulders. If he had talked about this to anyone else it hadn't helped. Hadn't made the pain go away. 

That was something only Jason could have done. 

And in that moment, he knew he didn't need to say anything to Dick. Even as he moved forward and wrapped his arms, somewhat awkwardly, around Dick... it had felt right. Like the only response that wouldn't sound sarcastic, or bitter, or faked. The only response that would bring both of them some amount of healing.

So they stood there for a moment, Jason wondering how long Dick's hugs lasted these days, Dick trying his best to _stop crying dammit_.

'Are you _taller_ than me?' Dick's asked through the tears, the humour in his voice carrying.

'I detect surprise in your voice. I always knew I was going to be taller than you, circus boy.' Jason scoffed.

'I'm offended.' Dick had laughed in spite of himself and pulled away, gently. 'But it seems right.'

Jason had cocked his head at that. 'What do you mean?' he asked as Dick wiped the tears away and put his mask back on. 

'You've always been "bigger" than the rest of us Jason. You've been made for greater things. It seems right that your height shows reflects that.'

' _Smooth_.' Jason smirked. 'But I'm not one of your obsessive fans, Nightwing. I can tell when you're being sarcastic.'

Dick had picked up the thug and flung him over his shoulder, smiling back at Jason. 'I meant every word of that, Little Wing.'

Then he was gone into the night, flying off the building with an acrobatic flourish and motioning for Jason to "call him".

Jason responded with his middle finger. 

'Show off...' Jason muttered, the corner of his mouth turned up. 

* * *

Jason swore lightly as he spotted the tracker he had attached to Robin's cape, lying in a puddle by the gutters. He stooped down and picked it up, examining it with a small frown.

_Great. That's four times he's given me the slip. How am I supposed to find him now?_

'Ever heard of phones? They're these amazing little devices that let you _call people_ when you want to talk to them.'

Jason turned and looked into the shadows of the dark alley as a masked figure stepped out of them, cautiously. 

_Tim Drake._

'Yeah, well, something told me you wouldn't answer my calls.' Jason returned, trying his best to keep his tone neutral. 

'So you decided to stalk me instead. Naturally.'

Jason shrugged lightly and stood, shoving his hands into his pockets. 'Says the kid who got into this gig by stalking Batman and Robin.' 

Tim did not respond immediately, his mouth fixed into a grim, straight line.

'What do you want, Jason?' he asked finally, his voice cold.

Jason could tell that Tim was already in "fight or flight" mode. Even as he stood there, his cape likely concealing the smoke bombs and batarangs in his hands, the air between them was tense, charged with emotion, anger.

It almost surprised Jason, the anger he could feel and see as he looked into Tim's sharp but tired eyes. It was a different kind of anger, different from his own, shaped by different experiences and pains and emotions than his own. But it was anger all the same. And, surprisingly, it calmed Jason. It helped to ground him in the reality of the whole situation with Tim. To remind him that Tim and he, if nothing else, shared the legacy and the burden, the thrill and the pain of being a Robin. 

Jason sighed and tried to force the words to come out. Any words. The script that he had already prepared and gone over in his mind at least a dozen times before tonight dissipated as he stood there in front of Tim's judging, slightly impatient gaze.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. _Ah, fuck it._

'Look, Tim. I know Bruce has told you that we're, well... "okay" now. And I'm sure you're not happy about that. You have every right to be. The last time we met I almost killed you.'

Tim made a noise that was similar to a scoff. 'Yeah. Not the best way to make a good first impression.' 

Jason held his breath for a moment, allowing Tim to be as biting and sarcastic as he needed to be. 'I wasn't in the best place back then. And I can't say I'm in perfect shape right now... but I'm better, Tim. Bruce and I are better. And I need you to believe me on that at least, and believe me when I say that I-I'm just trying to do what's right.'

'Right in who's eyes?' Tim asked, his voice full of scepticism. 'Yours? Bruce's? The law's? Because there's a big difference between those three.'

'I've promised Bruce I won't kill,' Jason continued, as patiently as he could. 'Not as long as I'm wearing this symbol.'

He tapped the red bat-symbol on his chest and Tim stared at it, biting his lip, doubtful.

'I'm not asking for your forgiveness, because that's something you need to give in your own time... but I am trying to apologise for how I treated you when I came back. Even if I was going through a tough time and was mad at Bruce, I shouldn't have taken it out on you. And I know that I need to earn my trust, with you more than anyone else. And I intend to, if you'll give me the chance.'

Yelling, Jason could take. It was the cold, angry silence that he feared the most.

And even as Tim stood there, he couldn't help but compare Tim to Bruce, to see the similarities that did exist between them. And he laughed, completely disregarding the situation. Because he couldn't help but think about how frustrating it must be for Bruce to have to deal with someone who similarly hides his true feelings and emotions, after he had gotten so used to Dick and Jason's emotional outpourings.

Tim narrowed his eyes, Jason's laughter catching him off guard. 'Is this a joke to you?'

Jason shook his head as the laughter died down. 'No. No... I just laugh whenever I feel awkward. And all your calculated silence is making me feel awkward. So could you just say something? I think both of us have a long night ahead of us.'

Tim followed Jason's eyes up into the dark Gotham sky to where the bat-signal shone, an eerie yellow glow against the smog of the city. He let out a deep breath and tucked the smoke bombs and batarangs back into his utility belt, retrieving his grappling hook instead.

'You're right that I don't trust you,' Tim admitted reluctantly. 'Honestly? I still think you're dangerous. Dangerous to Bruce, to the rest of us, and to Gotham.'

He paused and collected his thoughts as Jason wondered at how, for someone who didn't care about what Tim thought about him, he actually cared a lot.

'But, if Bruce, and Dick, and Barbara believe you're on the right path... if they trust you... then so can I.'

And with that, Tim shot his grappling hook and swung off into the night. Jason watched him disappear, still holding the tracking device in his hand, and debated whether or not he had seen Tim smiling as he left. He decided it was probably more of a grimace or resigned scowl and shot his own grappling hook up onto the building...

He found Bruce exactly where they had planned to meet. Lurking in the shadows as he observed the drug dealers that were already gathering in a shady bar not far from Crime Alley, his mouth set in a deep frown. 

'You made it.'

Bruce turned towards Jason, watching him as he put on his helmet and checked his guns coolly. 'Hrn. You told me not to be late.'

Jason loaded his guns with a click and smiled softly. 'So I did,' he murmured, his voice barely audible, but Bruce heard him all the same. 

'How did your meeting with Tim go?' he asked, his voice balanced, not prodding.

'Better than I expected. He didn't attack me.'

Bruce nodded, pulling out batarangs and standing on the ledge of the building. 'That means it went well. I'm sure he put you through hell trying to find him.'

'It took me three hours, Bruce. I hate to admit it, but he's a good replacement.'

Bruce smiled at that. 'He never replaced you, Jason. Just like you never replaced Dick. Tim has worked hard to live up to the standards that you set before him, and that wasn't easy. But I'm very proud of him... just as I'm proud of you.'

It was so cliche. Words that had been said a thousand times before. Unconvincing. Yet, even as Jason rolled his eyes from behind his helmet and reached for a sarcastic comment to brush over what Bruce had just said, he found that he almost believed them...

_But he would rather die again than admit that to Bruce._

Bruce looked over at him then, poised, waiting. 'Do you have a plan, Red Hood.'

Jason holstered one of his guns, pulling out a grappling gun and squinting towards the shady establishment. 'Can you cover me?'

'Of course...' Bruce responded hesitantly, letting out a deep, frustrated sigh. 'Is that your plan?' 

'They'll never know what hit 'em, Batman.'

Jason smirked and leapt off the edge, the wind tugging at his jacket, thinking about how long it had been since he had felt like this. Bruce's all-encompassing shadow had used to make him so nervous, used to suffocate him when he was younger...

But now, all he felt was the calm. He felt safe knowing he was not alone in this, that Bruce would be there for him.

And even if he doubted Bruce constantly, even if he still feared abandonment and doubted Bruce's promises sometimes... right now, Jason felt at peace.

And that was all he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song recs
> 
> Cross My Mind - A R I Z O N A  
> Bridge and the Wall - Elohim  
> The Judge - Twenty One Pilots  
> Better Now - She Is We  
> Brother (feat. Gavin DeGraw) - NEEDTOBREATHE  
> Next to You (Acoustic Demo) - The Province  
> 


End file.
